


A Toast

by eraemilius



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Drinking, Family Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-22
Updated: 2016-11-22
Packaged: 2018-08-30 05:49:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8520865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eraemilius/pseuds/eraemilius
Summary: Several months after setting out on the adventure of their childhood dreams, Stanford and Stanley Pines contemplate the life they left behind in Gravity Falls.





	

Ford was sleeping on the upper bunk in the room he shared with his twin. Stan could hear the steady rhythm of his brother's breathing when he leaned into the room from the hall. He peeked inside and grinned to himself at the sight of Ford, lying on his back, one arm hanging over the edge of the bunk, the other holding a book that was laid open on his stomach. Ford looked about as peaceful as Stan ever saw him, glasses still on his face, but askew. Stan chuckled to himself and ducked back out of the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

Even after the rift had been closed, that geometric demon knocked out of existence, Ford had slept only sparingly, mostly just when he ran out of steam and passed out on Stan's shoulder or sitting up at the kitchen table. He rarely slept in a bed, though he occasionally tried, only to wake Stan and the twins by getting up and wandering the Shack with an untold level of restless energy and no specific project to devote it to. Stan had chased him back to bed more than a few times in the weeks before the kids left Gravity Falls, but he suspected that all he really succeeded in doing was confining Ford to his bedroom. He doubted if his brother ever actually went back to sleep after being told to do so.

The fact of the matter was simply that Ford didn't know how to rest easy. He'd never had the luxury.

Two weeks into their Arctic expedition, Ford was still up all night and slept only when his body no longer permitted him to be awake. Stan had found him asleep at the helm, hunched over the wheel, and standing up in the kitchen over a cold pot of coffee. He’d begun to think his brother's sleep schedule a lost cause, til suddenly, one morning, Stan had woken up realizing he'd made it through the entire night without being woken up by his brother getting up in the night. He'd gotten up himself to find Ford still asleep, in his bunk, where Stan had left him the night before.

Ford's sleep schedule was still somewhat erratic from night to night, but as their journey continued, he'd begun to sleep...better. At least, at night. In a bed. Lying down. It was progress.

For his own part, Stan had never really had trouble sleeping. He’d always welcomed it and took no shame in ‘wasting the day’ as his brother had scolded him for in their youth. This, however, was a special night. Though ‘special’ might have been too good a word for it. Or too...sentimental, at least. 

Stan went into the kitchen--’galley’, Ford always corrected him--and retrieved a bottle of whiskey from under the sink, filling a glass from the counter and dropping down into the little booth that served as a dining table to sip it. Ironic, that he was the one awake while his brother was sleeping. But this was tradition, and even with Ford back, it still felt wrong not to make good on the ritual.

It was strange though, with Ford back...

He breathed in deeply and out again, listening to the sounds of the boat creaking around him. 11:58. 11:59. The clock ticked over to midnight and he raised his glass to toast the empty seat across from him.

"Stanley...?"

Stan gave a start at the sound of his brother’s voice, dropping the glass with a clatter to the table. Whiskey spilled out and the glass rolled over the edge and to the floor. Stan looked up, startled to see Ford standing in the doorway, staring dimly. Stan offered his brother an awkward grin. "Sorry, Sixer," Stan muttered. "Butterfingers. Thought you were sleeping.”

Ford adjusted his glasses, shaking his head tiredly. "Mm...What are you doing up?"

“Having a drink,” Stan said as he twisted round, grabbing a rag from a cabinet handle behind him and bending to wipe up the spilled drink. He grabbed the glass and set it back on the table, mopping up the rest of the spilled whiskey before pushing the rag off to the side. His brother stepped over and slipped into the booth across from him. He was dressed in sweatpants and a Mystery Shack t-shirt Stan had gifted him before they’d left Gravity Falls. His tattoo was peeking out on the right side of his neck and Stan had to grin a little upon seeing it. Ford noticed and huffed softly, rolling his shoulders and tugging the collar of his shirt up to cover it. Stan glanced aside, his grin sobering. "It's a special night, Ford. Sort of."

"Oh?" Ford asked, leaning an elbow on the table and putting his chin in his hand. He looked distant and foggy, an expression Stan had grown accustomed to during the weeks of Ford’s insomnia. 

"Yeah," Stan said, grin fading away now. He hesitated before lifting the bottle again, pouring himself a fresh glass. "Anniversary of your death. Or mine, dependin' on how you look at it. Anniversary of the night Stan Pines was in a fatal crash way back in Gravity Falls..."

They both lapsed into silence. Then Ford lifted his free hand and beckoned for Stan's bottle. Stan passed it over, along with a glass from the counter behind him, and Ford filled it and lifted it for Stan to toast. Stan clinked his glass with his brother's and they both drank, silent.

The boat creaked around them, the quiet rhythm of the waves outside.

"Stanley, I--"

"Don't start," Stan cut him off, failing to hide his annoyance. "I know what you're gonna say and I don't wanna get into it again. It's water under the bridge, Ford."

Ford watched him for a moment before glancing down at his glass, scratching at his stubble with his other hand. “I’m sorry.”

“I know,” Stan said, sighing. “I know.”

They lapsed into silence again and Ford turned the glass in his hands, thinking. "I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I miss Gravity Falls," Ford remarked, absently. “And the kids…”

Stan grinned and leaned back in the booth with a creak. "Me too," he said, "the good-for-nothing little trouble makers..."

Ford chuckled, scratching at his neck. "It'll be a wonder if their parents let them have anything to do with Gravity Falls again," he murmured thoughtfully. "Although I suppose they may have little say in the matter...I have a feeling Dipper and Mabel are going to be returning to Gravity Falls regardless of what their parents want. I'm not even entirely certain Dipper and Mabel have much of a choice in the matter."

Stan watched his brother, tipping his glass back and swallowing. "That your theory of weird stuff or whatever?"

Ford smiled tiredly. "Theory of Weirdness, Stanley," he said. "And it's hardly a theory any more. Weirdmageddon was more than enough proof of the existence of a weirdness magnet centered in Gravity Falls...I may never quite know the full nature of it, though." He lapsed thoughtfully, still turning his glass in his hands. "It's really too bad I can't publish any of my work on Gravity Falls."

Stan chuckled. "There's plenty enough weirdness in the rest of the world, Ford. You’ll get one of your nerd papers published in no time once we find this sea monster of yours.”

Ford grinned somewhat sheepishly at his brother, sitting back in the booth and brightening up. "If my data about this area is correct, we should be in a prime location for a sighting in the next few days...If we can capture the beast on film, we’ll be the first individuals to have real, recorded evidence of its existence."

Stan smiled at his brother, sipping at his drink before setting the glass down on the table with a clink. "You and Dipper were cut from the same cloth, All Star."

Ford blushed rapidly, bunching his shoulders up more and pressing a hand over the part of his neck where his tattoo was showing. "Stanley, I asked you never to call me that."

Stan laughed, and Ford couldn’t help but smile at him slightly, tiredly. They both drifted into comfortable silence as Ford’s sleepiness began to surface again. Stan watched him from across the table, smiling to himself, lazily nursing the glass of whiskey in his hand.

Ford had changed so much since their childhood, and yet so much of him was still exactly the same as the boy Stan had chased dreams with on Jersey beaches. When he’d first brought Ford back through the portal that summer, he’d thought that boy was gone. At least, the good parts of him. But a lot had happened in the last few weeks of Summer…

Ford was still incessantly single-minded and had to be reminded to consider anyone’s feelings but his own, but he was...growing more accustomed to sharing a space with Stan. A life with Stan. The life Stan had always wanted with his brother.

Stan smiled as Ford knocked his glasses askew to rub at his drooping eyelids.

“Ford,” Stan said, amused. “Go back to bed.”

Ford shook his head sleepily. “I won’t let good whiskey go to waste,” he insisted.

Stan smiled at his brother. He’d never made this toast with anyone before, but there was a first time for everything. A first time for a lot of things, with Ford. "To the heroic and selfless Stan Pines," Stan offered, lifting his glass, “who we left far behind us in Gravity Falls.”

Ford fixed his glasses and looked at Stan with halfhearted, exhausted disdain. He picked up his own glass with his free hand and clinked it with his brother's. "’Whom,’ Stanley,” he sighed. “But yes...May he rest in peace."

Stan chuckled and stood from the table while his brother downed the rest of the whiskey in his glass. “Alright, Ford, time for bed.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks as always to Grunklebill for editing.


End file.
